


The Nightingtale and the Dying Man

by merciki



Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins, The Hunger Games (Movies)
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Fairy Tale, Based on the Fairy Tale "The Nightingtale", F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-13
Updated: 2018-04-13
Packaged: 2019-04-22 08:04:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,594
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14304378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merciki/pseuds/merciki
Summary: Prompt 95: A fairytale: “Dear God, make me a bird. So I can fly far. Far, far away from here.” If Katniss turns into a bird, what breaks the spell? Does she speak besides sing? [submitted by @567inpanem]Written for the 2018 Spring Edition of the Everlark Fic Exchange :)





	The Nightingtale and the Dying Man

**Author's Note:**

> beta-ed by the extraordinary xerxia, who truly did an incredible job with this story :) 
> 
> Every single hit, kudo, comment is welcomed and is a boost :)  
> thank you all for reading :)

Every night, as the sun set, she could feel the first signs of the transformation.  
The curse, as she called it.

Every night, she wished that she had never begged the God That is High Above to grant her this wish. Yet, there she was, feeling the feathers pierce her skin, feeling a beak grow out of her lips. Just like every night.

She hated the words she had whispered to the night so long ago. “Dear God, make me a bird. So I can fly far. Far, far away from here.”

It had been a wish upon a star, childishly uttered in the depths of misery. But something had gone wrong. Terribly wrong.

Every night, she left her room, opening her wings against the wind, flying until exhaustion overtook her. 

Every morning, as she transformed back into a girl, she wished the curse would disappear.

She read book after book, looking for a solution, but there was none. She asked the God high above to get rid of her feathery problem.

She hoped and prayed.

Yet every night, night after night, she became a nightingale. A bird so sad that she couldn’t even sing.

Until....

She hadn’t seen the fair baker’s youngest boy in days. Not at school, not at the bakery.  
Rumor had it he was on his deathbed.  
That his mother had hit him too hard this time.

There were also rumors that his mother had been sent away. To her family, maybe. No one knew for sure. Rumors, but no facts.

Katniss’s heart broke at the thought that the boy with the bread, the one who saved them all, could disappear. He had become a beacon of light in her life since that long ago day. Someone to look up to. Someone kind and gentle, always ready to help others.

Someone who shouldn’t be dying.

She had to know for sure. She had to see for herself.

That night, she was thankful for the curse that fell upon her as she took flight towards the bakery. 

The night was crisp, the moon hung high in the sky, as if positioned to show Katniss the way to her destination.

She reached the old building, took advantage of the ivy covering the bricks to find a place to land. She would find his window and look inside, just to be sure the blonde boy was doing well, and hadn’t died.

She flitted from window to window, searching, until she spotted a yellow light pouring out of a bow window. She hopped along the windowsill, carefully peeking inside. 

There was an older man carrying a tray, moving slowly through a door, and another light went on.

Katniss followed the light, window after window, followed the old man with the tray towards his destination. He stopped at the last room.

She had to fly a little to reach the windowsill, landing quietly as she noticed the window was slightly open. She hid in the shadows, listening to the sounds within the room.

Peeking inside, she saw a familiar form on the bed, turned on his side, facing the window. The baker’s boy wasn’t dead. His eyes were closed, his hair a matted mess of curls, but what stood out was the large wound on his forehead.

“Peeta,” his father said, placing the tray he carried on the nightstand next to the bed. From her vantage point, she saw the boy’s eyes open slightly, before shutting again. “I brought you something to eat. You have to eat if you want to heal. Please, Peeta, for me?”

The boy made no movements, as if he hadn’t heard a word of what his father had said.   
Katniss knew better. She was the only one who saw the tear that escaped his eye and landed on the pillow.

She stayed on the windowsill, watching the boy, until the moon set.  
The boy didn’t move at all.

The next day, Katniss found herself much more aware of what was being said about the baker’s boy, listening to the town gossip about him.

The town’s gossips had a lot to say about the Mellarks. About how Frida’s temper seemed to always be let loose in the presence of her last boy, the one she had hoped would be a girl. How the child was always on the receiving end of her hand, of her broom, of the rolling pin.  
Katniss’s heart broke for the boy she had seen so many times helping others but who hadn’t received any help in return.

She noticed that nobody spoke about visiting Peeta.

That, save for his brothers and father, he was always left alone, in his room, in his bed.

She decided to use the cover of the night to visit him herself. Maybe to look after him too. Though what could she offer? At night, she was only a bird.

So that night, as the first feathers started to grow from her olive skin, for the first time she asked the gods to hurry - she had somewhere to go.

As soon as her transformation was complete, she flew directly to the last window, the one that was slightly open, and again peeked inside.

The boy - no, Peeta she corrected herself - was still lying on his side, facing the window. A new tray sat on the nightstand. His face was turned towards her, as if he was looking out through the glass. He had dark circles under his eyes.

The tray on the nightstand was untouched.

She hopped closer to the open window, looking around the room through a gap in the curtains. She noticed clothes thrown everywhere, the desktop full of papers, an abandoned backpack in the corner. Pieces of a life interrupted.

“I wish you would sing for me before I die, little bird.” Katniss startled at the voice. The bird in her wanted to take flight, wanted to fly as far away as possible, to find security.

The young woman inside, though, felt her heart sink at the rawness of his voice, at the tears she could hear hidden beneath the words.

She had never sung as a bird and her human voice had always been reserved for her family, except for that one time, the first day of school, when she had been the only one who knew the Valley Song. 

She looked at the young man, saw the plea in his eyes. She saw how hollow his cheeks had become, the dryness of his skin. The bones bulging against the thin skin of his hands. Despair was pouring out of him.

She realized he was closer to death than to life. That he had given up. She could almost see the silhouette of Death in the shadows, waiting to take its next victim.

Something broke inside of her. If the rays of the sun were lighting her instead of the moon, she could sing for him. But as a bird? She didn’t know how.

But she had to try.

She opened her beak, letting the music form. Pouring her tiny bird’s heart into every note, pouring every thought of the spring she had into her tune. In birdsong, she told him tales of her life as a woman, told him of her sister, of their laughter. She let him in on her secrets, into her despair for the curse she had been burdened with.

She sang until her voice broke, until the last shafts of moonlight started to disappear, replaced by the warmth of the sun. Then she quickly flew away without looking back, as her feathers started to disappear.

She was only able to reach the back of the bakery’s garden before she transformed back into Katniss, running towards the woods to hide and change into her human clothes. Nobody could ever know about her night form.

She quickly redressed, then ran and didn’t stop until she reached her house, slipping inside through the slightly open window of her bedroom.

That day at school and around town, all she heard was talk that Peeta was nearing the end. That there wasn’t much hope he would recover.

Tears pooled in her eyes, something breaking inside of her, a dizziness, a weakness flowing through her body. It was just as if she’d been stricken herself, as if her own world was crumbling.

When night fell on the little town of Panem, for the first time since the curse hit her, she accepted the change wholeheartedly, welcomed it, cursed only that the process was taking too long.

As soon as she became a bird, she flew to the bakery.  
She needed to know what had happened to the young man.

She needed to know if death had taken him.

There was a faint light coming from his room.  
The window was still open.

He was still there, facing her, eyes closed.  
There was another tray on the nightstand.

Katniss watched him intently, trying to see if he was breathing.

She had to know.

She hopped through the window, peeking her head inside as much as she could. It wasn’t enough.

Further and further she edged inside - until she lost her balance.  
Instinct took over as she spread her wings, flying to the bed. She landed on it just as Peeta moved, the rustling of the sheets sending her flying away.

At least he is alive, she thought, as she searched for a place to land.  
She flew back to the windowsill, noting in passing that this time the food on the tray had been touched.

If she were human, she would have sighed happily.

“Good night to you too, little bird.” The voice was still raw and hoarse, but it was his. “Will you sing for me tonight?” he asked, despair still lacing his voice.

She nodded out of habit. This time, though, she didn’t have to think too long before she started singing.

She sang until the last of the moonbeams caressed her feathers, before flying to the woods again, to transform into the young woman she was.

Over the days that follower, she felt her heart grow lighter and lighter as Peeta’s progress was more and more apparent. The hollows in his cheeks filled in, his voice was stronger, his eyes lost the void that had frightened her so much the first time she had seen it.

Every night, he asked for a song.  
Every night, she complied.

She worried a day would come when he wouldn’t ask. She didn’t know if she could stand not coming back, not singing to him.  
It was like he understood her.

One morning, as she dressed in the woods behind the bakery, she saw him, outside, for the first time in months. She had been slow to dress that morning, unable to find the bit of ribbon she used to hold back her hair. She stopped braiding her hair when she caught sight of him, walking in the small garden, looking around as if he was searching for something. He was staring up at the sky, a hand protecting his eyes from the rising sun. As she watched, he shrugged, then started walking back towards his home. 

Katniss’s heart was overflowing with joy. She didn’t even care anymore about the ribbon she had lost somewhere. She cared only that Peeta was out of his bed, finally. Her undone braid fell from her fingers, unravelling about her shoulders as she saw Peeta stop and pick something up from the ground.  
She froze as she realized it was a feather.

Her feather.

After one last glance at Peeta’s retreating form, she made her way towards the Seam, to her family. It was a good day.

He came back to school, one beautiful spring morning.  
He came back, and Katniss was happy.

She never stopped coming to his window.

He always made sure to leave a few bread crumbs on the windowsill for her. Sometimes, he left other treats, rich and delicious.

Life progressed at a peaceful pace, Katniss watching Peeta from afar during the day, yet confiding her deepest secrets to him at night, when she sang for him.

More often than not, she fell asleep on the windowsill, after she had watched him fall into the arms of Morpheus, waking with the dawn to slip away.

Until the day that broke her. The day her world collapsed.

Until the day her beloved sister died. 

No amount of pleading or crying could make her get out of her bed. She couldn’t hear her mother’s prayers.   
She was lost to the world.  
She knew Death was coming for her, but she welcomed it. What was left of her life without Prim? She almost wished that she had flown away from her family after her father’s death - the moment she made her wish. Everything since felt like it had been for nothing.

She couldn’t find the strength to move on.

And still, every night, when the moon came, despite her exhaustion, her body changed into a bird. A smaller, thinner, weaker bird, unable to fly or to sing.

She couldn’t fly to the bakery anymore. She didn’t have the strength to.  
But she knew the baker’s boy was fine now, that he was healing. That he didn’t need her anymore.

And she knew she was dying.

The trays her mother left beside her bed remained untouched.

One night, after she had transformed into the small nightingale, she heard a sound.  
Someone was singing.  
Rough and completely off-key.

But someone was singing under the slightly open window.  
She didn’t have the strength to fly over and see who was there.

But she could understand the words. They spoke of a time of sorrow followed by a better time. They spoke about dandelions blooming in the meadow. They spoke of the sun coming out after the rain. Of the trees in the forest.

He sang all night long.

When he was gone, Katniss found herself craving more.  
More words, more music.  
She tried to eat a little, to build her strength.

The next night, he was there again. Singing about children playing, about the sun setting in a palette of colors she had never heard of.

Night after night, the voice was there.  
Night after night, Katniss grew stronger. She could feel the shadow of Death retreating, falling into the nothingness.

One night, when she was strong enough, she waited by the window.

She was afraid to see who would come.  
She hadn’t dared to hope it would be him.

It couldn’t be.

She shivered, feathers rustling, when she spotted a shadow in the the moonlight, moving towards her.

She would have smiled when she recognized Peeta, if her beak had allowed it.

He came straight to her, extending his finger for her to hop on. She didn’t think, she just jumped.

He brought his finger closer to his face, looking straight at the bird.

She squeaked when she noticed the thin line around his wrist. The faded red hair ribbon she had thought was lost.

“There you are, my little nightingale. It took me a while to realize it was you… but of course it’s you. You always were the best singer that I had ever heard...” Peeta whispered, before bringing the bird to his lips.

She felt his kiss on her head.  
In an instant, her world changed.

She changed, even though the sun hadn’t risen, transforming into the young woman she was.

He smiled.

She smiled.

For many years to follow, night fell over them, time and time again, but the bird never returned.


End file.
